


Shell

by dfgfdgdf



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Angst, Biting, Kink Meme, M/M, Sexual Content, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfgfdgdf/pseuds/dfgfdgdf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X-Kink RPS meme. A fill for this prompt:<br/>FassAvoy. Michael loves to bite. Really loves. James is a little bit nervous about it, although he doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shell

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ракушка](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/23021) by michi-san. 



> WARNING: This is a translation from Russian into English! So, if you notice a mistake, it is my fault as a translator.  
> I just wanted to share this little beautiful story with you and I did my best for it.  
> In any case, you can connect me privately via skype (osterrein) or e-mail (osterrein@gmail.com).

James examines his shoulder in the mirror, running fingers over the swollen bruises, blinking wearily.

"Michael," he calls, and Michael moves, then turns, showing the head out of cocoon of blankets. "Michael, I asked you."

Michael curses and hides back, but stirs fingers in the air, whether luring or just saying something like _'sorry, didn't caught'_.

"That's funny, but I'm going to meet Anne-Marie tonight."

"Put on that stupid shirt," Michael says, and James feels _'don't speak about her, OK?'_ in his words, but he isn't going to agree.

"'A meeting' implies having sex."

"And you fucked with me early in the morning to have her longer? Normal people just masturbate before sex," Michael gets out of the bed, naked, battered, and scratched. He didn't ask James to be careful and not to leave marks.

James keeps silent – the shoulder is getting blue, and he has to explain this bruise to Ann-Mary somehow, not because she is jealous, but to remind himself that everything between them is to be explained and justified. Last time he said that he'd fallen, before – that he'd gotten in blows with Bacon, even before – that he made a bet with Michael and _that_ time it was true.

"Maybe you look in tonight?" Michael is fuming again and again, James wants too, but he would reek of smoke all the day long. Ann-Mary suckles Brendan; she'd better not to smell it.

"Nope. We're gonna stay in 'Shell'."

Michael goes out of the room in silence, but the butt smolders in the ashtray and James can't help himself but inhales it hastily, feeling as if he's got the bitter taste of Michael's lips.

 

Ann-Mary doesn't come, it happens, it's nothing. James types 'come to shell, room for 2 & chocolate', but clears it, then tries 'have you thought out an entertainment tonight?' and doesn't send it anyway. He is shaky, he fears that every single SMS would be sent to them both, and he's afraid not to explain himself to her and to exchange indifferent-guilty glances with him, but just afraid. James unbuttons his shirt and looks at the bruise tjat he has lucky escaped to explain. He wanted to tell her it was that scene on the beach, they were fighting, and, like, Michael suddenly beats him for real, maybe just raging. But Michael, even frenzied, has never tried to punch him, he only hits the wall and exhales deeply through the nose, blinking and clenching. James thinks it's good didn't have to lie today.

Michael locks his door only in case of he is going to take a shower, have sex or to read a book, but the door knob gives in easily and quietly. James sees him in the armchair, tired, smoking in front of the TV, and he feels as if something pulls the strings inside him, forcing to come closer. Michael doesn't wait for him, the ashtray is full, and the air-conditioner cannot bear all the smoke. James approaches unnoticed.

"I still decided to drop by to tell you a fairy tale before goin' to bed."

"And she?" sometimes Michael has a look on his face like he is fifteen and he just has fallen in love for the very first time in his life.

"Didn't come, nanny got some plans for tonight."

James sits down at Michael's feet, there is a horror movie on the TV, a sea of ketchup-colored blood, and screams, and Michael gently strokes his hair.

"The most terrible film in my life," James suddenly confesses, "was 'Hunger'. Your bones seemed to tear you apart through skin."

"How sensitive you are," Michael reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling him closer onto the lap.

"I was even weeping. I weep easily," James leans the forehead on Michael's temple and stoops, wishing to sit like this until the morning comes.

"Often?" Michael's palms on his back are so heavy and warm that it feels like his shirt is already on the floor.

"Not that much, I'm not sort of that young thing, you know."

Michael doesn't answer, runs hands over his back, pulling closer and tighter, his breath is still, his fingers press down James' spine, and it feels to him as if shattered glass is spreading over his back from every single vertebra. James presses the lips to Michael's bristled cheeks, tugs at his collar nervously and swallows, his naughty tongue slips the scar, and eventually Michael loses his breath.

James doesn't look into his eyes, hiding face, tracing fingers through Michael's hair; it's uncomfortable to sit in this chair together, although it's so cramped and cool and _close_. Michael is mumbling something and James stops him, kissing hastily, hungrily, almost jumping his tongue down his throat, pressing on his nape, scratching it, and starts to fidget on his knees silly, feeling Michael's madly beating heart.

"To bed," Michael whispers, dealing with James' shirt like in the nightmare: unbuttoning scrupulously, touching his skin and huskily and loudly breathing into the very ear.

"Too much messing 'bout," James takes off his shirt over the head, there are some buttons torn off and then knocking on the floor, and the blankets are still a big lump on the bed, Michael hasn't let the chambermaid in today.

Michael is heavy, and James is wildly, up to a scream, wants to accrete with him, just to be there and together and not to make up lame excuses, and Michael kisses his neck unusually gently, then his Adam's apple, between his collarbones and a shoulder.

"What?" James feels this anxiety, and Michael's heart is beating not so frantically, his rough fingers squeeze James' wrists quite carefully.

Michael half-opens the mouth, licks the lips hastily, smiles crookedly, and James laughs weakly.

"Bite," James whispers and himself hits Michael's lip with teeth, closes the eyes and inhales roughly, when Michael digs his fangs into somewhere in the nape. There are tacks and nails scattering under his skin, James wants to cry, and Michael lefts aching and burning marks, mutely repeating _'my, my, my'_. James wrenches away from the grip, falls onto stomach and puts his back under the biting, buries the face in the pillows, lets the muffled laugh out, although his throat is sore with moans. From neck to shoulder-bones the torture is more and more painful, Michael snaps more and more hardly, presses down his sides with palms and fingers; James stoops, and bends, and shrinks.

"Don't gnaw my head off," he still can joke, but his voice is weak, and Michael can't hear almost anything.

From shoulder-bones to waist James scratches the pillow, starts to whimper and rub his cock against the blankets, as if he is lashed with white-hot twigs, his hair stands on ends, and Michael almost rips him open with fangs, and it is fucking not about any scuffles, James grits teeth on the cushion and squeezes it so hard as though it could keep him afloat.

Michael strokes his hips with palms burning hot, calming James falsely, even untimely, whispering somewhere in his neck:

"Mine," James is shaked up, bending, swallowing moans, and rubbing himself against Michael, against Michael's cock so madly, so fervently. 'Yours,' he agrees, rests his forehead against his hand, raises hips and chokes with the air when he feels Michael inside. His heart is pounding somewhere in his head, his back is burning, the whole body is spasmed, and dry hot fingers are running through James' hair, squeezing, pulling, James throws back his head; screwing up his eyes. Michael moves slowly and deeply, but James wants it quickly and violently, he wants to scream. Michael's lips are on James' shoulder, he licks the old bruise, grasps James under belly, scratches his skin, grabs his dick in fist, there's no breath for another cry, and James can only scrape the pillow with nails and open his mouth without any sound.

 

It's hard to turn over on back and it's itchy under the left shoulder-bone, James hugs the cushion and puts it under thighs. Michael buries face in James' hair, troubling with blanket, trying to pull it from under James. It is still warm in there, but the conditioner has already driven away the smoke, and there's some breeze running over the neck.

"When is she coming next time?" Michael whispers, he can't help but thinking, but this is the time to light up and give James to inhale from his hands.

"Don't know", his voice is hoarse, James doesn’t hear himself, but knows that Michael will recognize _'don't speak about her, OK?'_ in it and give him a cigarette.


End file.
